


Bargained

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chekov does what he must to visit (another) Alien Russia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bargained

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Holiday ‘drabble’ for trekbedtimestories [on tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/66814629392/musing). 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Pavel’s just worked up the courage to knock when the doors open, and Janice Rand comes through, staring down at a PADD and smiling. Pavel’s cheeks dust and his face twists; he can guess where that smile came from. And it puts his nerves back on. He told himself he’d be good enough for this—he’s young and he’s not ugly—but if his worries are right, she’s a tough act to follow. 

She spots him, smiles, and disappears off down the hall, while Pavel breathes out and lifts his hand. He knocks and then puts his hands behind his back, standing up straight, maybe subconsciously imitating Mr. Spock, and hopefully that’ll work. Mr. Spock usually gets his way, even if he seems more polite about it. And he’s on almost every away mission. 

Pavel gets them spottily, and today he’s going to change that. 

The door opens, and Captain Kirk stands on the other side, proud and tall and somehow more intimidating than Pavel thought he’d be. Of course, they work together on the bridge, but Pavel doesn’t just demand things on the bridge—well, he does sometimes, but those are shouts in hasty reactions, not overarching career moves, and somehow he thought it’d be different in Kirk’s quarters. Maybe Kirk would be out of uniform, maybe he’d be more disheveled, maybe he’d look casual and inviting. 

Instead, he’s in full uniform, he looks perfect as ever, and his kind smile doesn’t make his presence any less powerful. 

“Chekov. What can I do for you?” A lot of things. 

But Pavel settles for saying, sturdy and braver than he feels, “Sir, I wish to attend zhe away mission.”

Kirk lifts a brow not unlike how Mr. Spock would. “I’m sorry, Ensign, but I already made the list.” And Pavel’s not on it.

Pavel looks both ways down the corridor, finds it empty, and leans in anyway to whisper conspiratorially, “Perhaps we could discuss zhis in your quarters, Sir?”

For a moment, Kirk looks surprised. Or at least, he’s raising both eyebrows. Pavel’s cheeks grower redder while he waits, half expecting to be turned away—he’s never been in the captain’s quarters before—but eventually, Kirk steps aside. He gestures in, and Pavel, breath caught in his throat, obliges.

He hears the doors slide shut behind him. The room isn’t that much different from Pavel’s—the same sparse edges and bright colours—but it’s more spacious and has a few nicer knickknacks. Pavel does a peripheral sweep of the room before he rounds on his captain and says with all his determination in his voice, “Sir, I would wery much like to be on zhe away team.”

“It’s going to be a dangerous one,” Kirk starts, “I’m afraid I need more experienced and higher-ranked—”

But Pavel cuts him off. “Wizh all due respect, Sir, I beliewe I am up to zhe task. I hawe already looked at Meester Spock’s preliminary reports, and zhe surface looks wery similar to Russia—”

Kirk laughs once, and Pavel shuts up, feeling stupid but nonetheless insistent. He waits for a moment, hoping the laughter is at something other than his impertinence. When Pavel doesn’t go on, Kirk sighs, “Chekov, you think everything is similar to Russia.”

“Well, a lot of zhe uniwerse is, Sir. Why, Meester Spock himself noted zhat zhe ruins of an abandoned city below bear a striking resemblance to Moscow.” Kirk looks disbelieving again, but Pavel has bigger fish to fry, and he rolls on. This is the tricky part. “Keptin... Keptin, I am willing to do whatewer it takes to gain your favour.” He’s definitely blushing at this point, but he stands his ground, hands tight at his sides.

“My favour?” Kirk repeats blankly. Pavel nods.

“I know zhat you... zhat you hawe been known to take... to take sexual fawours, and I... I am up to zhe task!” He’s not sure what he expected here. Maybe a firm denial.

But a grin works its way onto Kirk’s face, and he says quietly, “I like to think I’m a little better than that.”

“All I want is a chance, Keptin.” He says it like he means it. He does.

Kirk’s eyes do a quick sweep of him, so subtle that Pavel might’ve missed it if he weren’t specifically looking out for it. He hopes to mother Russia he passes inspection, but there’s no way of knowing—Kirk gives no indication of his findings. 

“Mr. Chekov...” Kirk starts slowly, “You wouldn’t be trying to make an excuse to get into my bed, would you?”

“N-no, Sir!” Turning bright red, Pavel stands abruptly at attention. This is strictly a professional call. ...Sort of. Just in case, he makes absolutely sure to keep his eyes up, even though looking down might give him an indication of how his proposal’s going over. He’s sure his reaction’s giving away more than he wants it to, but all he can do is wait. 

“Who do you think I’ve accepted sexual favours from?”

Dr. McCoy. Definitely Mr. Spock. Maybe Uhura? Maybe even Hikaru, once or twice. Pavel has no proof of anything, of course, but he’s not stupid. He can tell. Oh, and Rand, obviously. Instead, he says, “I do not know, Sir.”

“You suggested it.”

Pavel’s quiet, but his face probably says it all.

Kirk takes a step closer. Pavel looks at his face, wondering vaguely if this was a bad idea. 

Kirk takes another step. Their shoes are almost touching. “Ensign,” he repeats, “Are you trying to get into my pants?”

Yes.

But it was supposed to be a good career move, too, and it’s not exactly _bad_ per se, not on the Enterprise, where they’re all so close, or at least, so many of them are close to Kirk and Pavel _wants to be too._ Why shouldn’t he? He can love better than some cold Vulcan, he’s sure, and McCoy’s probably twice his age. Uhura wouldn’t settle for a player like Kirk, and Pavel’s not even sure Hikaru likes men...

Pavel sucks in a breath and lets himself jump headfirst again, lunging up to try and press his lips against Kirk’s, tilting his head just in time. 

Kirk pulls his head away faster, dodging the kiss and chuckling in a way that makes Pavel as red from frustration as neediness. “I have noticed you’re always very eager, Ensign.” Kirk’s hand goes right for Pavel’s waist, and a finger hooks into his belt loop. 

Kirk starts to walk backwards, Pavel being dragged forward by the belt loop, and he’s instantly in some sort of oh-lord-this-is-really-happening trance. Is that a yes, then? He gets a chance?

Kirk walks Pavel right into the bedroom, turns him around against the bed, and pushes him down so that his knees buckle. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he looks up at his captain, still too terrified (and excited) to look down. He needs permission for more. He asks, “Keptin... does zhis mean...?”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Kirk asks, looking so smug that it’s crossed the line from pompous into tremendously sexy. “To be in my bed? Is that what you came here for? To have me?”

Pavel shakes his head—not exactly. “N-no, I...” Kirk freezes, looking momentarily hesitant, and Pavel wants to reach out and touch him but doesn’t dare. “I came here to giwe myself to you.”

Kirk snorts. Pavel somehow blurts, nearly snaps, “I mean it!”

He’d say more, but he’s cut off by the force of Kirk’s mouth. 

Kirk’s bent over him, pressing into him, and a hand works into his hair and holds the back of it still, and Pavel wouldn’t pull away even if he could. As soon as he parts his lips a hairsbreadth, Kirk’s legendary tongue is pressing against them, pressing hard, until Pavel gives in and opens with a little mewl. Then Kirk’s _inside_ him, exploring his mouth and pressing his own tongue back in a way that makes Pavel shiver. _This_ is how men should kiss. 

Okay, there may have been a few slight other motivational factors to do this aside from the away mission. 

When Kirk pulls back, Pavel doesn’t want to go. His eyes have already closed, and he follows Kirk’s lips with his head until he can’t lean any further over without getting off the bed, and he opens his eyes again, looking up. Just one kiss, and Pavel already knows that Kirk lives up to his reputation. 

Kirk asks, “You really want me, then?” Pavel nods. Of course he does. Who could ever _not_ want James T. Kirk? A light smirk twists onto Kirk’s face, and he says, “Say it, Ensign.”

Pavel licks his lips and mutters, “I want you, Keptin.” He came here to do this and he’s going to do it. 

He gets kissed again, so hard and so good that he’s surging right back into it, body arching forward and trying to press into Kirk’s. This time, Kirk’s arm worms down to his back, pulling him in by the waist, and Pavel groans, tilting his head more and kissing harder. Kirk swallows every bit of his enthusiasm, kisses him back even harder, strokes his hair and his hip and plays with his tongue, teeth lightly scraping his lip. Kirk steals all his breath away, kissing him and kissing him until Pavel is starting to squirm, moaning and wanting _more_. Inevitably, Kirk pulls away again, and this time Pavel whines and keens, “No...”

But Kirk just chuckles. He straightens up and starts to walk around the bed, and he bends down to pull off his shoes as he goes. He kicks them aside, then takes off his socks the same way, and he climbs onto the bed, sitting at its head, back against the wall and ass in the pillows. He pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it aside, leaving Pavel, once again, breathless. 

Kirk’s nothing but golden skin and chiseled muscles, perfectly shaped and formed and just what Pavel wanted, even if he never admitted it. He licks his lips just from looking, forgetting himself. Kirk whistles, probably just to draw his attention, and Pavel’s eyes dart back to Kirk’s face. Kirk’s smirking again, and he reaches out one arm, gesturing with his hand. “C’mere.”

Pavel’s not one to disobey his captain. He turns and crawls across the mattress, any hesitation thoroughly thrown out of him. Kirk’s legs are spread, bent at the knee. Pavel makes the mistake of looking down. The bulge in Kirk’s pants is more than sizeable. Pavel groans and wonder what he has to do to get rid of that last bit of fabric. 

Maybe he’ll have to suck it. Get to suck it. He licks his lips again. He hasn’t done that in a while—not since the Academy and one or two admirals to get him on the bridge of this ship. He could still do it. He may not be as good with his mouth as Kirk, but he can take direction well, and he _wants_ to feel Kirk’s cock somehow, inside him in some capacity—maybe he should lean down right now and nuzzle into it, burry his face in Kirk’s crotch and inhale his raw, musky scent, so masculine, even from here. Pavel could mouth at it, and maybe he’d have to beg, but eventually he’d get to lock his lips around Kirk’s thick shaft and taste a real man, not some old professor or crinkly admiral, but a real, hot as hell man—and he could please his captain like a good ensign should...

Pavel’s getting hard through his pants. Kirk can probably see it. He feels shameful, but Kirk still grabs the hem of his pants again and tugs him closer. He’s pulled right into Kirk’s lap, straddling Kirk’s hips, and Pavel’s hands land on Kirk’s shoulders. When he sits down, their crotches rub together—Pavel stifles a groan. His hips start to rock of their own accord, and he tilts his head, leaning closer, hoping desperately for a kiss. 

He has a merciful captain. He’s kissed hard, and his ass is squeezed. He yelps into Kirk’s mouth and it gets swallowed up. Kirk dominates the kiss and runs both hands up and down Pavel’s sides, occasionally running back to cup both Pavel’s cheeks through his pants and knead them a few times. Pavel’s getting too warm for his uniform. His stomach is rubbing against Kirk’s chest. He wants to lick Kirk’s tight pecs. 

When Kirk finally breaks the kiss, he murmurs, “Always did want to fuck a Russian.”

And Pavel, without thinking, groans, “Please fuck me, Keptin.” Maybe he always wanted a captain to fuck him. Or specifically, his captain. It’s so difficult sitting on the bridge all day, with Kirk just behind him, lounging in the captain’s chair with spread legs and lazy muscles. Sometimes when Pavel glances over his shoulder, all he can see is Kirk’s permanent bulge, and it’s all he can do not to daydream vividly of getting fucked with it, right there and then. It seems more likely to happen to Mr. Spock or some lucky yeoman, but he can still fantasize...

He gasps at his own fantasy, or maybe it’s the way Kirk’s hands have slipped beneath the fabric of his pants and boxers, directly squeezing and pinching the tender flesh of his ass. Pavel squirms but wouldn’t dare move away. Kirk’s grinning lazily; obviously, he likes what he feels. Pavel’s kissed again, so fiercely that he loses all his breath too fast. He’s going incoherent, and he doesn’t register until too late that one of Kirk’s fingers is slipping between his crack, running up and down it. He tries not to react, tries not to look inexperienced or afraid, but he still shudders. Kirk’s finger runs down to his hole and taps it. Pavel wants Kirk _in him right now._

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Kirk doesn’t go around fucking everyone under him—maybe everyone he runs into gets the same way as Pavel and throws themselves at his feet, begging to be fucked. Maybe he’s just a benevolent master that doesn’t make his crew pine. He presses against Pavel’s hole, dry and blunt, but he doesn’t go in. Pavel still wants him to. Pavel rolls his hips, but it doesn’t do any good. 

This time, when Kirk breaks the kiss, he slides his face to the side of Pavel’s and hisses in Pavel’s ear, “Take all your clothes off for me.”

Pavel sucks in a breath, _so hard_ , and breathes, “Yes, Sir...”

He sits back, and he grabs his shirt, and he only hesitates for half a second because he knows he isn’t built anything like Kirk. Then he throws it off anyway, raking a hand through his hair afterwards to fix it. He lifts up on his knees, and he grunts in displeasure when Kirk’s hands slip from his ass. Kirk settles back to watch, and Pavel’s acutely aware of that when he takes down his fly. He starts to push his pants down, and Kirk adds, “Underwear too.” So Pavel, blushing and otherwise trying not to react, goes back up to grab his underwear and push it all down at once. He has to lift one knee up at a time to push them down, and then he’s pulling them off and tossing them to the side. His shoes are a bit difficult from this angle, but he manages. He takes his socks off, too: everything.

Only when he’s done, when he’s sitting there naked, does Kirk look down at his lap. Pavel looks away; he knows what his cock looks like. He wants to see Kirk’s. Kirk’s probably bigger, better. But Pavel’s not that bad, he knows. He gasps; Kirk’s grabbed his shaft. A subtle squeeze and Pavel’s staring down at it, Kirk’s calloused fingers around his cock. He gets impossibly harder. “Not bad, Mr. Chekov,” Kirk purrs. A little look up, and he comments, “We might have to do this again sometime.”

 _Yes_. Pavel stops himself just short of begging for it. How far up the ladder would he climb if he spent every night in the captain’s bed? His sleep would suffer, but it’d be worth it. If he could get pounded into the mattress by Kirk, gorgeous, powerful Kirk... the thought of a promotion almost pales in comparison. He wants another kiss. He goes in for it, and he’s delighted when it connects, when Kirk kisses him back. 

Kirk strokes his cock at the same time, and Pavel rocks into it. Kirk’s so _good_ , knows just what he’s doing, knows just how to treat a man. Pavel finds himself pleading in between little kisses, “Fuck me, fuck me please... Keptin...”

Kirk pats his hips and chuckles, “Of course.” He pulls back, and Pavel tries to follow, kissing his cheek. Pavel’s so caught up in it that he doesn’t even bother to see what Kirk’s doing. He hears a drawer open—was there a nightstand? And he hears a bottle pop open, and then his chest’s being shoved back and Kirk’s other hand is leaving his cock. An ample amount of a clear gel is poured into it. “Orion lube,” Kirk informs him, spreading around in one palm. “Loosens the muscles, stays wet, warms up—all the good stuff.” With a quirk of his lips, he adds, “Even tastes good.”

He lifts one finger up as though to demonstrate, but he doesn’t taste it. He pushes it at Pavel instead, and Pavel obediently licks it off without a second thought. It does taste good. Not like anything he can even express, maybe flowery and sweet, but it makes his eyelids feel heavier and his cock seem to throb.

“It’s an aphrodisiac, too,” Kirk adds casually. “But I don’t think I need to feed you anymore than that to get my way.” Pavel shakes his head. No, he came in here ready to serve. He still wants to. Very, very badly. That did taste _good_. Maybe, if he’s lucky, Kirk will let him lick it off the captain’s cock after; how decadent would that be? Or maybe out of Kirk’s ass. Has anyone else done that? He pictures Mr. Spock bent over the helm and Kirk rimming him hard, and suddenly Pavel’s squirming and desperate to be filled. It’s not fair that they all get Kirk’s love and he doesn’t. He’s good, too, isn’t he? Kirk’s hand reaches behind him. 

A few strokes against his hole is all it takes, and Pavel’s rocking back and forth; Kirk’s finger pops inside, and Pavel’s fucking himself on it. It goes a little deeper each time, makes him a little fuller, but it’s still not enough. Kirk grins at him and tells him, “You’re doing well, Chekov.” _Chekov_. That’s better than ‘ensign.’ Maybe Pavel could get them down to first names, someday. If they were more intimate. The lube does its job; it doesn’t even burn. Doesn’t hurt, doesn’t feel uncomfortable, just stretches him and stretches him, and two fingers aren’t enough, and then three fingers aren’t enough. He wants Kirk’s cock, and his hands, tight against his own thighs, wants desperately to touch it. All fingers leave. He lifts himself up higher, closer, ready. 

Kirk dons a wide smirk, maybe at his eagerness. Kirk’s fingers move so slowly when they hover over his own crotch—Pavel wants to help but doesn’t dare. He stares at the way Kirk pops his fly and slowly opens up, pushes down his white boxers and reaches in to pull out his pulsing, rock-hard cock, thick and long and _huge_. The red tip is almost leaking, and Pavel bites his lip. Kirk directs himself down and takes a hold of Pavel’s hip, getting into position. 

The spongy head presses against Pavel’s hole, and Pavel’s eyes fall closed. He waits until he’s given the signal, until Kirk’s patting his hip again, and then he can’t take it. He sits down, forcing himself to take it, using all of his weight to impale himself hard and fast on Kirk’s glorious cock. The lube does its job. Pavel falls right to the base. It burns but doesn’t hurt, feels tight, such a tight squeeze, so _big_ , _mammoth_ , everything he knew it would be, how’s he going to go back to just touching himself at night when he knows this is out there? He’s groaning too hard to hear Kirk’s reaction, but when he opens his eyes, Kirk looks just as lust stricken. 

Kirk bucks his hips, and Pavel bounces, gasping, and Pavel takes the hint. He puts his hands back on Kirk’s shoulders and sits up, then shoves down, taking it and grunting. He starts to bounce on his own, up and down, taking every last centimeter with a greedy moan. It’s such an easy slide, even though it’s such a hard thing, so much pressure, so difficult to fit, but at least the ride’s easy. He could ride Kirk like this all day. He wants to. He rolls his hips each time and feels something like he’s riding a horse. Doesn’t care if he looks silly. Kirk’s grabbing his hips, keeping up with him, then touching his waist and tracing his back, and then something scrapes his nipple and his eyes fly open. Kirk bites him and sucks on one nub, warm tongue tracing Pavel’s skin, and he’s going to come without even being touched, he’s sure of it. Kirk plays with his left nipple and then kisses over to the right one, sucking it in for the same treatment.

Then he’s sucking and nipping and licking his way up Pavel’s neck and over Pavel’s jaw and back to Pavel’s mouth, and Pavel kisses back like a starving man. No wonder everyone’s always coming onto Kirk. He radiates sex and he delivers. He kisses Pavel hard, claims him over and over with both tongue and cock. It occurs to Pavel late that he’s not the one bouncing anymore; Kirk’s hips are doing the true work, pounding up into him. Pavel feels lucky, so lucky. He loses his grip and his arms slip around Kirk’s neck, body flattening closer, and when Kirk stops kissing him, he’s uselessly moaning, “Keptin... _keptin_...” And then a shameful, “Da... da, da, _da_...”

“You’re tight,” Kirk purrs against his cheek, kissing him and biting the shell of his ear. “You like the feel of my cock, Ensign?”

Pavel’s just nodding: yes, yes, _yes_. He hears the chuckle and doesn’t care how wanton he asks. He just wants to be _Kirk’s_ ensign. How is it even possible to feel this good? Every new thrust takes his breath away. His head’s spinning. He’s fucked over and over, kissed again, and then one of Kirk’s hands is leaving his hip, and he wants to whine but never gets there. 

Kirk’s fingers wrap around his cock again, and it’s all Pavel can do not to scream into his captain’s mouth and come on the spot. A few pump’s and Pavel’s dizzy. Kirk stops kissing him to hiss against his face, “Do you want more of this, Chekov? No need to stop at one night?” Kirk fucks and jerks Pavel off at the same speed to the same rhythm, while Pavel rocks into it and nods furiously—of course he wants more. “I should’ve started this long ago, when you first stepped on board, while I had you sitting there in front of me all this time with your pretty body and your tight ass... I should fuck you right over your station.” Chekov moans: _yes_. “Or maybe that’s not enough for you. Maybe I should throw everyone else off my bridge and fuck you in my captain’s chair—bet you’d like that, riding your master’s cock right where we both work... or maybe I wouldn’t kick everyone off at all, maybe I’d let them stay and watch the way I take you down to nothing... would you like to put on a show for the crew, Ensign? For me? Sit in my lap like a good boy and fuck yourself on my dick?”

In this moment, there’s nothing in the whole universe that could sound any better. Pavel comes suddenly and torrentially, screaming and throwing himself forward, fists tight in Kirk’s hair and against Kirk’s back, hips stilling and shaking. He spurts against both their skin, draped between them and gluing them together, and before he’s even finished, Kirk’s bouncing him up and down again, making him cry out and squirm. His head’s still numb, blank, his orgasm still rippling through him. He thinks he might go insane from the sheer pleasure of it. Kirk keeps fucking him over and over, still holding Pavel’s slowly finishing cock, and then Kirk bites Pavel’s neck and comes hard inside him, painting Pavel’s walls. Pavel screams again from both the bite and the wonderful sensation of being _filled._ He’s full of his captain’s cum. He’s giddy.

He’s heavy and spent, and he slumps down as Kirk lets him, draped over Kirk like a limp blanket. Kirk starts to pet his hair soothingly, maybe fondly. Even that feels good. 

After a few minutes of nothing, just panting and tingling with the aftermath, Kirk says, “You can come on the away mission.”

Pavel looks up at him immediately. Kirk’s just as flushed as he is, eyes dilated and half-closed and lazily proud. “ _Not_ because you’re good in bed,” Kirk adds, “But because you’ve shown you have the tenacity to handle it.” Then he chuckles and kisses Pavel’s forehead, adding, “Though you are very good in bed. I just don’t take sexual favours the way you think I do.”

Pavel doesn’t know what to say, so he settles for, “Zhank you, Keptin.”

“Call me that again.”

“Keptin?”

Kirk grins and gives him another kiss, maybe chuckling a little. Or maybe he just likes Pavel’s too-thick accent. Pavel hopes he likes something. 

Because Pavel likes basically everything about Kirk, and Pavel slumps back down against Kirk’s chest, feeling almost too good to be true.


End file.
